


Bait

by Twilight Fang (Asthenos)



Category: Prison Break
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-08-24 10:10:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8368363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asthenos/pseuds/Twilight%20Fang
Summary: What starts off as a pretty simple undercover mission for Alex quickly turns into something a lot deadlier.  While the others try to figure out what went wrong, Lincoln is the only one who takes action in order to protect Alex.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks and hugs for the comments and kudos that convinced me to continue this fic. I edited Chapter 4 so it's a bit different than the original version. I'm a little dissatisfied with it but decided to start fresh with Chapter 5 because that just seemed easiest.

“So, where’s the next card?” Brad Bellick asked the rag-tag group of men – and one woman – who were gathered around their little makeshift command table. The wood laminate table was buried under piles of folders, loose pieces of paper, and a bunch of fast food scraps that had passed off as last night’s dinner.

 

Their covert group’s impromptu leader – Michael Scofield – was hovering behind the hacker that Agent Don Self had dumped on them. While it was true that none of the team had any experience with hacking, there were times that they all thought Roland was more of a burden to the team than an asset. Even with Roland’s impressive computer skills, getting him to focus and stay on track was worse than babysitting a whiney two-year-old.

 

“This is it,” Roland finally answered, pointing at the information that he’d fished out of The Company’s database. He spun the laptop around so that everyone could see the dossier on a Mr. Lawrence T. Jones.

 

Michael hid his annoyance at Roland, knowing that the young punk had removed the computer screen from his field of view on purpose. Apparently Roland still thought that they were playing a game and he was winning. Casually moving back to the other side of the table and away from Roland, Michael began to read off the scandalous details of Jones’ life. “Lawrence T. Jones. Fifty-eight years old, six-foot-two, one-hundred and ninety pounds. Lives in Ohio, but - like the other cardholders -he’s in town for the next couple of days on business. He’s currently staying at the Hilton Hotel, at The Company’s expense and…” Michael frowned at the last piece of information.

 

“What?” Lincoln Burrows demanded to know, staring at his younger brother impassively. “Just read the rest so we can get on with it already.”

 

“He’s been tried for two counts of murder, five counts of sexual assault, and multiple counts of assault with a deadly weapon, but he’s never been convicted.” “

 

“So he’s dangerous and knows how to bend the law.”

 

“Probably,” Michael answered Lincoln, although he knew that his brother hadn’t phrased it as a question. “And the only time he spends away from his hotel room is when he’s frequenting Unchained.”

 

“Unchained?” Alex Mahone repeated from where he was leaning against the wall, arms folded in front of his chest. His standoffish body language was having the desired effect because no other member of the team wanted to be anywhere near him. It wasn’t that Alex had done anything to offend anyone – recently. It was that nobody knew what to say to a man whose son had just been murdered, and disappeared at random times in the day to deal with his grief. “What is that? A karaoke bar?”

 

“Unfortunately, no. It’s a gay nightclub.”

 

Almost immediately, Sucre backed away from the table with his hands held out in defense. “No way am I pretending to be gay again,” he protested. “Last time I got lucky, but I ain’t doing it again.”

 

“You won’t have to,” Michael sighed in exasperation. “This man has a type and you’re not it.” He leaned in closer and scrolled down to scan through the number of men that Jones had been associated with. “He usually goes for tall, slim, blue-eyed men.”

 

“You fit the bill on that one, Scofield,” Brad chuckled.

 

Michael gave Brad a dirty look and continued. “With thick brown hair.”

 

Alex uncomfortably dropped his gaze when he felt the weight of the room on him. “No way,” he muttered dismissively. “You couldn’t pay me to sit at that pig’s table,” he said a bit more forcefully, indicating the profile picture of Jones at the top of the computer screen with a nod of his head.

 

“You’re the only one who fits the description perfectly,” Sara countered. “And I think it’s rather sexist for you guys to get so upset over a few harmless moments of flirtation. How many times did I have to throw myself at some dirty old man? I didn’t hear any of you complaining about what I went through.”

 

“Actually, I complained quite a lot,” Michael reminded Sara.

 

“There’s a big difference between you and I,” Alex shot back, beginning to fidget like he had the habit of doing nowadays when he was nervous. Since he’d overcome his addiction to Veratril there was very little that could naturally calm Alex’s nerves. He secretly suffered from anxiety attacks, even after the withdrawal symptoms had dissipated, and was left with no choice but to conceal them from the team. At the moment, he was having a very hard time keeping his hands still. “Sara, you’ve had a lot of practice at seducing men because you’ve actually been with men. I haven’t. This Jones guy is going to take one look at me and know I don’t swing that way.”

 

“Actually, I can’t tell which way you swing from over here,” Brad quipped.

 

“Then we’ll just have to make it look like you do.” Sara talked over Brad, hoping that this wouldn’t end up in a brawl over Alex’s sexual orientation. She agreed with Michael that they didn’t have any other options. Sucre was happy that it wasn’t his ass on the line this time. And judging by Brad’s flippant remarks, he couldn’t have cared either way. Roland had been told on numerous occasions to keep his mouth shut, so he kept his opinions to himself. That only left Lincoln and his dead cold stare, which did nothing in Alex’s favor.

 

“You only need to be close to him for five minutes, maybe less,” Michael said calmly, rationally. “No one is asking you to hold his hand or go back to his room.”

 

“Well, isn’t that a relief,” Alex said sarcastically.

 

“Look, are you going to do it or not?”

 

“Do I have a choice?” Alex tried not to visibly let his shoulders slump as Sara motioned for him to follow her into one of the back rooms in the warehouse. He didn’t want to let the others see just how uncomfortable the thought of cozying up to Jones was making him feel.

 

* * *

 

Nearly half an hour later, Sara returned to the open area of the warehouse followed by a very unhappy looking Alex. It looked like Sara had grown up torturing Barbie and then turned her attention, and poorly acquired skills, on poor Alex. She’d fluffed up Alex’s hair so that it caught the light and looked a lighter brown on top. His skin was paler looking than usual, except for his high cheekbones that were streaked with a dark pinkish blush. Just in case Jones was in need of glasses, Sara had outlined Alex’s blue eyes with a Kohl eyeliner, drawing the eye to what was perhaps Alex’s best feature. And then she’d gone and selected a pair of tight jeans and a black, form-fitting t-shirt for Alex to wear. Alex rarely wore jeans and had never had a problem buying shirts too small, so he looked uncharacteristically lacking confidence in his extra snug attire.

 

Upon catching sight of Alex, Brad snickered and Sucre burst out into uncontrollable laughter.

 

“Maybe we should call you Alice Mahone,” Brad taunted, whistling crudely at Alex.

 

Lincoln, who had appeared disinterested up until that point, suddenly charged forward. “No way!” He spat out in disgust, grabbing hold of the chains around Alex’s neck and trying to pull them off. “There’s no way in hell he’s going in there dressed like this!”

 

“Hey!” Alex tried to push Lincoln away, fearing that he might get chain burns around his neck if Lincoln kept pulling like that.

 

“Linc, he’s going into a gay club, not a five-star restaurant.” Michael didn’t know why Lincoln had suddenly gone into one of his sour mood swings. Although Lincoln had a short temper and was a raging powerhouse when he wanted to be, he usually had a pretty thick skin. So, seeing him seething over Alex’s outfit and accessories left Michael feeling confused and at a loss.

 

Lincoln released the chains to turn on Michael. “He doesn’t have to go in there looking like a slut.” An uncomfortable tension filled the room after Lincoln’s outburst. Alex was the only one who looked relieved when Lincoln reached for the chains again, unlatched them and flung them onto the table.

 

“Okay then, no necklaces.” Michael cleared his throat to try and draw his teammates back to the task at hand. “Alex, you’ll need to get close enough with the device for Roland to begin downloading the contents of Jones’ card. You’ll need to stay in contact for at least five minutes. Think you can do that?”

 

“He’s not going in there alone,” Lincoln interrupted again.

 

“You don’t trust me, Lincoln?” Alex challenged, resisting the urge to rub at the Kohl that seemed to be irritating his eyes.

 

“It’s not you that I don’t trust.” Lincoln would not elaborate on why he was against the idea of Alex going in alone. It would be preferable if Alex didn’t go in at all, but he knew that arguing about it would cause dissent in the team. He knew that the others wouldn’t understand because they hadn’t overheard the pain and despair in Alex’s voice over the death of his son. Lincoln had been the one who found Alex in the storage room, broken up and sobbing over his loss. He was also probably the only one who had noticed Alex’s recent weight loss and constant fidgeting. Alex was in no shape to be taking on a sadistic monster like Jones. And the worst part was that Lincoln could see a man like Jones taking a liking to Alex and turning the tables on him.

 

“Linc, there’s nothing in Jones’ file about big, beefy men with shaved heads,” Michael said in frustration.

 

“Who the hell said that I wanted to play that part?” Lincoln glared at Michael. “I’ll go in with Alex and stay as backup. It’ll work better that way. Men like Jones always want what they can’t have. Why not sweeten the pot a little?”

 

“You and Alex?” Sucre laughed again. “Yeah right! Nobody’s gonna believe that for a second.”

 

“This is a one-man job, Linc. You’re going to complicate things.” Michael stood his ground against his older brother while Alex looked back and forth between them with interest.

 

“Would you let Sara do it by herself?”

 

“No, but…”

 

“So it’s decided.” Lincoln dropped his large hand onto Alex’s hip as if he were doing no more than slapping the ex FBI Agent on the back. “See, no big deal.”

 

But Alex pulled away and shot Lincoln a wary look, trying to figure out what his game was.

 

Lincoln grabbed Alex again, this time securing his arm around the slimmer man’s waist. “You do that in there and you’ll get us both killed,” he warned, ignoring Alex’s startled yelp and Michael’s look of disbelief. “Let’s just get this over with.”

 

Roland slid the electronic copying device and a listening device with the wire all tangled up to the other side of the table. “Don’t know where you’re gonna put them.” Roland eyed Alex’s tight jeans and ill-fitting t-shirt in obvious disgust.

 

“That’s a good point. Where am I supposed to put them?”

 

“Sara, get Alex a jacket.”

 

“One that doesn’t look so flamboyant,” Lincoln added, trading a challenging look with Michael.

 

Apparently, Self had never anticipated the need for any of their team members to pose as boy toys because Sara couldn’t find anything that would go with Alex’s outfit and not detract from the overall ‘look’. She ended up loaning Alex her loose-knit, beige sweater – the one with the overly large pockets and long sleeves that she was always rolling up. It would get chilly at night, so Alex wouldn’t look too out of place with it.

 

Once Alex had stuffed the electronic copying device in one of the sweater’s pockets, balancing it out by filling the opposite one with a bunch of change, they were off.


	2. Chapter 2

It was nearing eleven o’clock at night by the time Lincoln pulled up to the gay nightclub in their borrowed black sedan. The parking lot was almost full already, mainly with colorful sports cars and the occasional motorcycle. Lincoln rolled down the window to pay for his parking ticket and found an inconspicuous spot by the exit. Just in case they needed to make a quick getaway.

 

As soon as Lincoln turned off the engine, he turned to Alex who was wringing his hands in the front passenger’s seat and looking like he wanted to jump out of his skin. “You’re just gonna talk to him. That’s all,” Lincoln said calmly.

 

All he could get out of Alex was a nod before the ex agent noticed where Lincoln’s attention was directed. Alex quickly pulled the sleeves of the sweater down over his hands and willed himself to stop trembling. “Five minutes,” he repeated what Michael had said. “And you’ll verify when it’s done over the phone.”

 

Lincoln didn’t know why he felt the need to say it, but he did anyway. “Listen, Alex, if that asshole touches you or tries to grab you, we abort the mission. You give the signal and I’ll get you out of there. Do you understand?”

 

Alex smiled at Lincoln’s strangely overprotective posturing, still unable to figure out what angle the ex con was playing. To be perfectly honest, he felt a lot better with Lincoln at his side than Brad or Sucre, or even Michael. Lincoln was more straightforward with no hidden agendas. If Lincoln said he was going to do something, there would be no mercy for the person he planned on doing it to.

 

“Yes. Thank you, Lincoln. I didn’t want to go in there alone.”

 

“I know. That’s why I volunteered.” Before Alex could ask why, Lincoln was already out the door. The bigger man waited for Alex to get out of the car and readjust his jeans. Outside the air was brisk, just cool enough that Alex wasn’t sweating in his borrowed sweater. Most of the people that they could see by the entrance were dressed more exotically and showing more skin, so Alex automatically had the attention of half the club goers waiting in line before he had even shut the car door. Lincoln stood there, waiting for Alex to come closer. “You’re not gonna flinch again, are you?”

 

“No.” Alex allowed Lincoln to drape one muscular arm around him, resisting the urge to shake it off. “What if this Jones guy doesn’t even show?”

 

Lincoln led Alex over to the line of overly excited men who were being frisked by the bouncer at the back entrance. At least they wouldn’t have to worry about weapons on the inside. “He’ll show. Michael said he’s here every night.”

 

“That’s half of our problem solved. But he may not even glance my way,” Alex said, doing his best to keep the hopefulness out of his voice.

 

They were halfway through the line when a man in a nicely tailored suit seemed to point Alex out to the bouncer. Immediately, the bouncer left his position to shoulder his way through the crowd, nearing Lincoln and Alex.

 

“What did I do?” Alex whispered to Lincoln, looking more and more agitated the closer the bouncer got.

 

“Relax. Maybe he thinks your underage,” Lincoln joked. He squeezed Alex’s arm reassuringly and pretended to be looking out at the parking lot when the bouncer stopped in front of them.

 

“Sir,” the big burly man said loudly, ignoring Lincoln and addressing Alex. “One of our patrons just paid for your VIP pass.” He held out a laminated VIP pass card for Alex.

 

“Oh? It’s my first time here… so I don’t see how anyone could know I was coming,” Alex fumbled for something to say to stall the bouncer, wondering if accepting the pass was a good thing or a bad thing.

 

The bouncer looked put off by Alex’s reluctance to take the pass. “You seem to have caught the eye of Mr. Jones, one of our more distinguished patrons. He’s requesting that you join him for a drink in the VIP room.” He thrust the card at Alex and waved his arm for the men in front to move aside.

 

Alex looked at Lincoln, trying to read his expression, but got nothing. It looked as if Lincoln was thinking, very slowly.

 

Just when Alex was about to follow the bouncer, Lincoln came between them. “Does this invitation extend to me as well? Cuz we’re together in case you can’t tell.”

 

“Mr. Jones was very specific in his request.” The bouncer again motioned for Alex to move forward. “You, sir, can wait your turn in line,” he rudely ordered Lincoln.

 

Left with no choice but to play along, Alex smiled apologetically at Lincoln. “I guess I’ll see you inside.” And then Alex was following the bouncer inside, apparently exempt from the weapons check at the door.

 

No sooner was Alex out of sight than Lincoln was dialing Michael on his cell phone. “Michael, we have a problem. Jones must’ve had his eye on the men in line and took an interest in Alex. Alex got bumped ahead in line on a VIP pass. Tell that jerk Roland to get ready to download.”

 

“Okay, this shouldn’t take more than a few minutes.”

 

Lincoln grunted in assent and hung up on Michael. He glanced at his watch and then counted the fifteen men ahead of him in line. He silently swore at the fact that Alex wasn’t wearing a wire. In the end, they couldn’t find anyplace to put it that wouldn’t show through Alex’s clothing. Not knowing what Alex was walking into made Lincoln feel extremely uneasy.

 

* * *

 

The inside of the nightclub was loud and smelled awful. Alex had never managed to train himself to block out his sense of smell and so it combined with the reverberating music to temporarily throw him off balance. There were bodies everywhere, some dancing, others grinding into each other, and Alex found himself shifting left and then right to avoid being unpleasantly touched by the occasional groper. The stale air inside was heavy with sweat, beer, cigarette smoke, and a sweet odor that Alex guessed was something a little more potent.

 

If Alex were to be perfectly honest with himself, the nightclub still wasn’t as offensive as the environment in Sona. Nothing could top the way that place smelled or the sanitation issues that he had encountered there. Even though he’d kicked his drug addiction and had no intention of reliving it, part of him was thankful that he’d spent most of his stay in Sona flying as high as a kite.

 

Alex was led down a hallway at the back of the club, past a VIP-members-only-area sign, and through a black door. Once Alex had been ushered inside, the bouncer left, closing the door behind him. The noise from the outside was filtered out in this room. It was eerily quiet, low lit, and smelled of overpowering cigars.

 

“Good evening,” a deep jovial voice called out from a corner of the room, amused laughter following when Alex whirled around in defense.

 

At a large round table, covered by a rich red tablecloth sat a big bearded man who filled out his expensive clothes too nicely to be called muscular. He was sipping something that glowed amber from an expensive looking goblet and eyeing Alex up and down in a manner akin to a businessman checking out the merchandise.

 

Alex dropped his arms by his sides and feigned interest in Jones. “You must be Mr. Jones. I’m not sure why you paid for my pass, but it was greatly appreciated. That line was long.”

 

“You can call me Lawrence. So, you seriously don’t know why I asked you to come back here?” Jones grinned toothily at Alex and patted the cushioned seat beside him in the booth he was lounging in. “Or are you just acting coy?”

 

Alex shrugged, deciding that maybe coy was the way he wanted to go, and took the seat next to Jones. He subconsciously began to estimate how long he would need to converse with Jones before the five minutes was up. “Well, I did come here with another man,” Alex said casually, shifting away when Jones leaned in closer.

 

“So you did. A rather simple looking man at that.” Jones nodded to his bodyguard who was standing off to one side. The man didn’t ask questions or hesitate. He carefully took down a clean glass from the nearby buffet and poured Alex a drink. Having set it in front of Alex, he stepped to the side again to stare off into space. “I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage because you know who I am but I don’t even know your name.”

 

“It’s Alex.”

 

“Alex…?” Jones prodded for a last name.

 

“Just Alex. I’m not much of a family man.”

 

“Well, Alex, you have quite stunning blue eyes.” Jones watched Alex closely, noticing how the brunette blushed and reflexively reached for the glass of bourbon that had been placed in front of him. “Tell me, Alex, are you usually this nervous or am I making you uncomfortable?”

 

This was going very, very wrong. Alex had no way of telling if the transfer was taking place and he had no idea where Lincoln was. Worse yet, Lincoln had no idea where he was. Was he uncomfortable? Of course he was uncomfortable! Jones was absolutely repulsive. From his fake, leering smile, all the way down to the excessively large diamonds on his fat fingers. And judging by Jones’ comments, he was also far too perceptive.

 

Five minutes. That’s the longest he had to stay. He’d been sitting beside Jones for a good minute already. Four more to go.

 

Alex wasn’t much of a drinker, but he made a show of taking a large swallow of the bourbon to calm his nerves. The liquid burnt the back of his throat and it was all he could do to stop himself from choking on it. “This is my first time in a nightclub,” he explained, thinking it would be best to stick as close to the truth as possible. He couldn’t keep up his guard if he was forced to remember his lies at the same time.

 

Before Alex had been recruited by the Company, he’d been a good law-abiding citizen. He had always been the first to arrive to work in the morning, and often the last to leave for home. He’d never been drunk, never smoked, and never tried any recreational drugs. That had all changed after he’d killed that butcher Oscar Shales. The tranquilizer Veratril had more than made up for his days as a boring, straight-laced detective. The effects, and side-effects, of Veratril had sullied both his mind and his reputation, destroying everything that he’d worked so hard to achieve. However, without it, Alex was pretty sure that he would have pulled the trigger on himself a long time ago.

 

“So,” Jones interrupted Alex’s train of thought, leaning in close again. “You don’t go to nightclubs and you don’t drink.” It wasn’t phrased as a question, nor was it spoken with any humor. “Tell me, what do you do, Alex?”

 

Alex froze, his hand still gripping the glass of bourbon to keep his fingers from trembling. He didn’t know what kind of scenario he’d been expecting, but this wasn’t it. He had thought that maybe Jones would do something cliché and predictable, like put a hand on his thigh, and he would just brush it off and walk away. The walking away part was no longer an option now that he was in a private room with a bodyguard standing watch.

 

“I do freelance work,” Alex answered, trying to be as vague as possible.

 

Jones continued to look unimpressed. He had expected Alex to divulge his extracurricular activities, not his occupation. “You’ve never been with another man, have you, Alex?”

 

Alex looked startled, making the mistake of making eye contact with Jones before quickly looking away again. That piercing stare was enough to see right through him. Jones’ dark eyes were cruelly narrowed at Alex, sizing him up for what he truly was.

 

Finally, Jones smiled a thin, satisfied smile. “Well then, isn’t this a treat? It must be my lucky day to get my hands on a man as attractive as you. A man with no experience.”

 

“I didn’t say that.” Alex tried again to put some distance between himself and the ogre of a man who was breathing down his neck. He had stopped counting the seconds that the data transfer required and was now thinking of nothing but getting the hell out of the VIP room and as far away from Jones as was humanly possible.

 

“It isn’t what you said, Alex.” Jones’ tone had become progressively more condescending. “It’s what you didn’t say. Now take off this ridiculous sweater so we can get down to business.” Jones suddenly yanked hard on the collar of the sweater Alex was wearing.

 

“N—no, it’s cold in here,” Alex protested, trying to keep the sweater on.

 

There was no warning for what happened next. Jones belted Alex hard across the face, knocking him back into the cushions of the booth. The room spun on its axis and everything went black for several seconds. Alex tried to push himself up and away from the cushions but he couldn’t make his limbs work through the dizziness. He felt the itchy wool of Sara’s sweater being roughly pulled off of him and numbly thought that he’d been made.

 

But Jones didn’t check the pockets of the sweater. He merely tossed it onto the floor, wove his fingers through Alex’s thick brown hair, and tightened his hold. “When I tell you to do something, you’d better do it, bitch!”

 

Alex cried out in pain, clawing at Jones’ hand and kicking wildly at his shins. Jones easily held Alex face down and climbed on top of him, pressing one knee into the small of his back. When Alex’s struggling became more frantic, Jones breathed heavily by Alex’s ear. “This might be a bit rougher than what you’re used to. Feel free to scream all you want. This room is soundproof.” Jones’ other hand wandered down Alex’s back, over his hip, and then down the outside of his thigh.

 

“Get off of me! You sick pervert!” Alex was on the verge of panicking, knowing fully well what Jones meant to do to him. He’d tracked and arrested plenty of men like Jones. Serial killers. Rapists. Men who exercised their control by hurting others. Men like Oscar Shales. He knew by experience that Jones could not be reasoned with. If Lincoln couldn’t get to him in time…

 

“Do you always shake like this when you’re scared?” Jones used his free hand to grab Alex’s right wrist, clamping down on it with bruising force.

 

The pain was unbearable. Jones began to pull Alex’s wrist back at a terrible angle, causing the younger man to scream in agony. At the same time, he leaned down to begin kissing Alex’s neck, the coarse hairs of his beard prickling the sensitive skin there. When he reached the neckline of Alex’s black t-shirt, he temporarily released Alex to grab hold of the material with both hands, literally tearing it off of him.

 

Alex reacted instantly, driving his left elbow up and into Jones’ stomach as hard as he could. He heard the heavy man gasp and thought that he’d found a weak spot. He pulled his arm back, preparing to strike Jones again, but there were fingers weaving through his hair again, forcing him face down into the cushions. He lost the leverage that he’d had a moment ago, feeling nauseous when he felt and smelled Jones’ hot, cigar-laced breath by his neck. An abrupt pain surged through the sensitive area between Alex’s neck and shoulder and he couldn’t help but scream again. He felt something sharp, biting him, drawing blood. Jones’ teeth.

 

By the time Jones’ released his teeth from Alex’s blood smeared skin, Alex was on the verge of losing consciousness. He couldn’t do anything to defend himself when Jones grabbed his right wrist again.

 

“This will wake you up,” Jones said in a sick, menacing way as he pulled hard on Alex’s wrist.

 

Jones was seconds away from snapping Alex’s wrist when the door suddenly swung inward, blasting the room with the noise and smells of the main nightclub. There were sounds of anger and confusion, followed by the removal of the weight that had been holding Alex down.

 

Alex was unable to move. He looked up from where he was sprawled, trying to see through the blur of movement. Nothing would come into focus. He heard shouting, but it didn’t sound as loud as his own labored breathing. After a long space of time had passed, a hand touched his face and he jerked back in terror.

 

“Alex! It’s me, Lincoln. Come on, we need to get out of here.”

 

Alex blinked and tried to speak, but no words came out. His entire right hand and arm were throbbing and his vision swam mercilessly.

 

“Alex.” This time Lincoln’s tone was softer, gentler. Alex felt himself being pulled up and the sweater being draped over his shoulders. “I’ve got you.” And then Lincoln was lifting him up and into his arms. Alex was so out of his mind with fear and pain that it didn’t occur to him that he should be feeling embarrassed by the way Lincoln carried him out of the nightclub. Out of that temporary hell. Without thinking, Alex grabbed Lincoln’s shirt with his left hand and buried his face against Lincoln’s strong chest, desperate to shut out the sounds and sights that surrounded him. Lincoln was warm, and the steady pounding of his heart soothing. But before they reached the car, Lincoln’s shirt became quite damp in the area where Alex had his face pressed. And not with sweat.


	3. Chapter 3

Lincoln took a roundabout route back to the warehouse, flying through yellow lights and sharply cutting around corners until he was sure that he’d lost the tail that they’d picked up at the nightclub. It was getting really late, probably coming up on one o’clock, and his cell phone was buzzing on and off frequently. He was in no mood to answer it.

 

The city was half asleep and with it most of its activity. The suburbs were pitch black except for intermittent street lamps and garage lights that operated on motion sensors. Nothing but alley cats and a random drunk wandering along the sidewalks were out at this time.

 

As they passed under the street lamps, the interior of the sedan became partially illuminated for a brief moment, allowing Lincoln to catch a glimpse of Alex in the dark. He couldn’t help but notice the rigid way that Alex was huddled in the passenger seat beside him. Whereas Alex was usually very animated with his fidgeting, now he was completely still. But it was a stillness that was forced. It was difficult not to feel the tension that was vibrating through Alex’s body, threatening to break him like a violin string wound too tight.

 

At the next traffic signal, Lincoln glanced over to watch Alex staring blindly out the window, his features a stony mask. The only thing that gave away the whirlwind of emotions churning inside of him was his shaky breathing, and even that he tried to conceal by pushing the knuckles of his left hand up against his mouth. He was leaning heavily against the door, his head resting against the window as he fought back either dizziness or nausea. Every so often he would begin to fall asleep, or lose the battle for remaining conscious, only to jerk back into a state of alertness again.

 

Lincoln briefly closed his eyes, trying to get the image of Alex being accosted by that sick monster back at the nightclub out of his head. Exactly five minutes after Alex had been escorted inside, Lincoln had strayed from their original plan. He was supposed to only be there as backup, acting only when – and if – Alex needed him. But the line outside the nightclub had barely moved an inch in all those five minutes and Lincoln’s paranoia had gotten the better of him. He had been left with serious trust issues after being framed with the murder of Terrence Steadman, attacked by normal looking passersby on the street who were actually Company agents, and been visited by the ghost of his father who hadn’t actually been dead. He was always on edge - always ready to defend himself and those he cared about. So, no, he hadn’t trusted Alex going in there alone. He would rather have screwed up the mission than risk Alex winding up like Veronica.

 

But thoughts like that brought Lincoln back to the root of the problem. If he had been paired up with Sucre, instead of Alex, he most likely would have waited around another few minutes before barging into the nightclub. He certainly wouldn’t have flown in there to check up on Brad. The truth of the matter was that he didn’t feel the same way about Alex as he did the other members of their team.

 

He’d been aware of a faint, but not too indistinct, attraction to Alex from the moment he first laid eyes on him. Their first encounter had been in the elevator of that courthouse where Michael and himself had staged LJ’s rescue attempt. Lincoln had been desperate to get his son back, and the only thing standing between LJ and his freedom was that cocky, son-of-a-bitch FBI Agent Alexander Mahone. That cocky, blue-eyed, handsome, son-of-a-bitch. After that failed rescue mission, Lincoln had practically gone to sleep every night thinking up ways to get revenge on Alex. To make him suffer. But Lincoln would often wake up during the night to his body and mind betraying him. His conscious imagination had wanted Alex dead, but his subconscious wanted him in a very different manner.

 

When Michael had allowed Alex to tag along on the Sona escape, Lincoln had thought that he’d finally be able to end his own inner turmoil. At that point he wanted Alex dead for many reasons, one of which was for murdering Aldo Burrows – his father. He’d had Alex in his sights… and hesitated. But Alex had stood there looking defeated, ready to pay for his sins. It was as if Alex was silently pleading for Lincoln to pull the trigger. And then Alex had confessed that he’d been manipulated by the Company into killing Aldo. The Company had given Alex a choice – his family or Lincoln’s. Of course Alex had chosen to save his own family. What man wouldn’t? If put in the same position, Lincoln had no doubt that he would’ve killed any number of faceless bastards to protect LJ. And so he had allowed Alex to slip away – again.

 

After that, when Alex and Lincoln had been thrown together on this stupid Scylla mission, Lincoln had seen yet another opportunity to share his empty threats with the man he labeled as an enemy. Alex hadn’t reacted to the promise of settling old debts. In fact, he hadn’t reacted to much of anything since Don Self had recruited him for the team. It wasn’t until recently that Lincoln learned of Alex’s murdered son and his overwhelming grief. Somewhere between overhearing Alex’s heartbreaking telephone conversation and then finding him shattered in that storage area, Lincoln had stopped denying his feelings for Alex.

 

Lincoln steered the car into the empty, darkened parking lot of a closed supermarket and threw it into park. He couldn’t wrestle with the memories of the past that haunted him, and the nightmarish images from the Nightclub that were still fresh in his mind, while Alex was sitting beside him reliving it all. Alex hadn’t said a word since Lincoln had kicked open the door of the VIP room, immediately taking out the bodyguard and setting himself on Jones like a raging bulldog. The only thing that had stopped him from ripping Jones apart was the need to get Alex to safety. But judging by the way that Alex’s frightened blue eyes kept glancing in the side mirror, he didn’t feel safe at all.

 

Undoing his seatbelt, Lincoln leaned closer to Alex and wrapped his muscular arms around him. “C’mere,” he urged gruffly, trying to pull Alex against him. He might as well have tried to dunk a cat in a bucket of water because Alex immediately began to struggle, frantically grabbing for the door handle. “Alex!” Lincoln held on, waiting for the slender ex-agent to come to his senses.

 

Alex blinked a few times to clear his mind, no longer trying to fight Lincoln off, but his posture remained stiff and the atmosphere between them awkward. Finally, he spoke, his voice raw with emotion. “What are you doing?”

 

Lincoln couldn’t come out and say that he wanted to comfort Alex. Only people who were comfortable expressing their emotions said crap like that. And he sure as hell couldn’t admit that he needed physical reassurance of Alex’s continued existence. Because he was pretty damn sure that had he shown up two or three minutes later, Alex would have been dead, or left in a state where death would have been preferable. “I’m sorry I didn’t get there sooner,” was all Lincoln said.

 

That was apparently all it took for the fragile shielding that Alex had erected around himself to come crashing down. To be pulled out of the abusive clutches of a violent man and then be taken into the gentle embrace of another – it was too much for Alex to process. Lincoln felt Alex begin to tremble, the fingers of his left hand beginning to dig into Lincoln’s bicep. Although Lincoln had no desire to watch Alex cry, he also knew that it was better for them to get this over with before returning to the warehouse. Alex’s pride was damaged enough as it was without allowing him to fall to pieces in front of the rest of the team. So, he held onto Alex tighter, being careful not to apply pressure anywhere the brunette was injured. At first there was only the trembling and the silence, but soon that was replaced by breathless gasps and punctuated by the occasional choked off sob. Lincoln stroked his fingers through Alex’s hair and used his other hand to rub Alex’s back. He quickly stopped when Alex moaned in pain, alerting him to yet another injury that he had missed.

 

“You’re okay now,” Lincoln said gently, feeling the storm inside Alex begin to subside. He continued to hold the ex-agent until Alex relaxed in his arms, his face pressed against Lincoln’s shoulder. When he was sure that Alex was too exhausted to cry again, Lincoln slowly released him. His eyes narrowed at the watery charcoal streaks running down Alex’s face. “Let me get that crap off for you,” he offered, using his thumb to erase all evidence of the makeup that Sara had decorated Alex with. Then he shifted back over to the driver’s side and put the car back into drive. Before he could pull out of the parking spot, he felt a very intense gaze being leveled at him. He turned back to Alex who was looking at him with his red, puffy eyes.

 

“Thank you, Lincoln,” Alex said shakily, but sincerely, before returning his full attention to the side-view mirror.

 

* * *

 

 

It was sometime around one-thirty a.m. that Lincoln parked in front of the warehouse they were operating out of, walking around to the passenger’s side to help Alex out. Alex swayed dizzily on his feet and looked slightly nauseated, causing Lincoln to half-carry him inside.

 

As soon as they were inside the door, all the angry, excited chatter that had been filling the warehouse stopped.

 

Michael broke away from the rest of the team who were standing around the raised meeting area with anxious expressions. He took one look at Alex and let Lincoln have it. “Where the hell have you been?! We’ve been trying to contact you for over two hours!”

 

Lincoln brushed past his control freak of a brother and helped Alex to where Sara was gathering her medical equipment.

 

“Lay him down on the sofa,” she instructed Lincoln. She glanced at Alex’s face and allowed her medical training from her time in Fox River to take control. “Everyone out! The only two people I need in this room are Alex and Lincoln.” Alex’s steeled features may have fooled the others in the room, but Sara had years of experience dealing with trauma patients to recognize a front when she saw one.

 

“Is that really necessary?” Michael asked, startled when his older brother gave him a threatening look.

 

“Yes, Michael. We’re going to need some privacy here. Could you and the others please go outside? I’ll call you when I’m finished.”

 

Sucre decided to set an example by doing as he was told and exiting the building. He was closely followed by Brad, and then by a very reluctant and worried Michael. Only Roland took his time, taking a long look at Alex to gauge just how badly injured he was.

 

“Get out!” Sara snapped at him, reminded of the kind of fool on the highway who slowed down and looked back to try and see inside the wreckage of a car accident. As soon as the door closed behind Roland, Sara began to check Alex’s injuries, grimacing at the darkening bruises running from his right temple to halfway down his cheek. “Lincoln, can you please get a couple of ice packs from the freezer? And clean towels, too.” She tried pulling her sweater away from Alex’s shoulders, being more careful when he cried out in pain. A corner of the sweater was covered in blood and sticking to an area close to the base of Alex’s neck. She removed it slowly, inspecting the deep gashes there, before sterilizing the wounds with rubbing alcohol. “Alex, stay with me,” she said firmly when his eyes became unfocused. Although he struggled to remain conscious, he made no effort to indicate where else he was hurting.

 

“Here,” Lincoln interrupted as he passed her an ice pack wrapped in a towel.

 

“Hold it to his face,” Sara ordered, her full attention on dressing Alex’s wounds. Then, she addressed Alex directly. “This would go a lot faster if you would tell me where you’re injured so I don’t have to guess.” When Alex’s eyelids fluttered shut and didn’t reopen, Sara set her mouth in a straight line and looked at Lincoln. “It looks like he has a mild concussion and is suffering from PTSD, so you’re going to have to answer my questions. First of all, do I need to be treating him for rape?”

 

Lincoln was unprepared for Sara’s blunt question and had trouble working the word through his brain. Rape was something that was all too common in prison, so it had always been hanging on the edge of Lincoln’s peripheral vision. But, it was a word that he didn’t want to associate with Alex. “I got there before it went that far.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“He was in there for five minutes – tops – and he still had his pants on when I got to him.” When Lincoln had stormed into the VIP room and found Jones practically mounting Alex, his heart had stopped at the thought that he was too late. But then he had surged into action, hauling Jones bodily off of Alex and bloodying his fists on the man’s face. He’d been so relieved to find that Alex seemed to be okay from the waist down. “I’m pretty sure.”

 

Sara still looked Alex over for any signs that would indicate otherwise. “What the hell happened to his wrist?” She gingerly felt Alex’s right wrist for any protruding bones, not liking the way it was swelling up.

 

“That asshole was trying to trying to break it when I entered the room. He was a sadist, Sara! Alex didn’t stand a chance!”

 

Sara ignored the anger that was radiating off of Lincoln to check the purplish bruising on Alex’s lower back. “He’s going to need to lie on his stomach with the ice packs on his back and wrist for tonight. It’s not going to be comfortable doing that on this sofa. Can you carry him upstairs?”

 

“Yeah.” Lincoln lifted Alex into his arms and carried him up to the men’s sleeping area, carefully lowering him onto his cot.

 

“Help me get these jeans off him. We want him to feel as comfortable as possible.”

 

“Yeah, like finding the two of us undressing him is gonna be comfortable,” Lincoln muttered to himself.

 

Once Alex was positioned on the bed on his stomach in nothing but his briefs, Sara gave Lincoln instructions on how long to keep the ice packs on and when to take them off. She also injected him with a mild painkiller to help ease his suffering. That was all she could do considering that she still needed to determine how bad Alex’s concussion was, and keep him away from anything addictive. Giving Alex one more cursory glance, she pulled the sheets up over him and went downstairs to let the others back inside.

 

Michael was up the stairs and in Lincoln’s face before anyone else could get through the front door. “I need some answers, Linc,” he demanded, eyeing Alex’s prone form and lowering his voice. “What happened in there?”

 

“What do you think happened in there?!” Lincoln said venomously, needing someone to blame for the whole situation. “Alex was attacked and I barely got to him in time. Less than five minutes. That’s what you said. And after five minutes I’m still waiting for a phone call. Still waiting in line outside that shit joint.”

 

Something changed in Michael’s expression. His eyes narrowed, becoming cold and calculating as he picked apart Lincoln’s accusations. “What do you mean you were still waiting for a phone call after five minutes?”

 

Alex suddenly moaned and tried to roll onto his side. Lincoln placed his hand firmly on Alex’s bare shoulder, holding him still until he settled down again. “I mean, Roland didn’t call to let me know that the transfer went through. I went in there on a hunch, Michael. Cuz if I hadn’t, Alex would be dead or worse.”

 

“Roland called you, Linc. The transfer was complete at three and a half minutes. We were all standing there when Roland made the call. Three times! He left a message because you didn’t pick up.”

 

“You calling me a liar?” Lincoln’s nostrils flared angrily as he gritted his teeth to prevent himself from saying something he’d regret.

 

“No, I’m only trying to understand what went down. Another thing I don’t understand is why Alex was attacked in the first place. Alex is quite capable at manipulating when given proper incentive. If Jones was attracted to him, why did he do this much damage?”

 

“Oh, so now you’re victim-blaming?” Lincoln just about shouted, flinging around a term he’d heard Sara use in the past.

 

Michael took a step back, looking at Lincoln as if he had gone crazy. “What is wrong with you?! Of course I’m not blaming Alex for anything!”

 

“Sure sounds like you are!”

 

“Boys!” Sara rushed up the stairs and into the open space that was serving as a communal sleeping area. She came between Lincoln and Michael, giving them both a scalding look of disapproval. “Neither of you are helping Alex right now, so why don’t you both go outside and work off some of that male testosterone.”

 

“You gonna stay with him?” Lincoln abruptly asked Sara.

 

“Yes, Lincoln,” she answered in exasperation.

 

Lincoln shoved past Michael, stomping down the stairs, leaving his brother no choice but to follow. At the bottom of the stairs, Sucre and Brad scrambled to get out of their way while Roland sat back in front of his computer and dug into a bag of potato chips to watch the show.

 

But Lincoln went straight for the door, flinging it open so wide that it slammed into the wall and shook on its hinges. He whirled around as soon as Michael had exited the warehouse, shutting the door behind him.

 

“I _did not_ get a phone call from Roland,” Lincoln seethed, slapping his cell phone into Michael’s hand. “Go ahead and check if you think I’m bullshitting you.”

 

Michael probably should’ve taken his brother’s word for it, but he checked the call log anyway. There were over two dozen missed calls from eleven thirty to one thirty, so he had to keep scrolling up. He was fully prepared to go after Roland when… he found three missed calls and a voice message on Lincoln’s phone at nine minutes past eleven – three and a half minutes after Alex had entered the VIP room. He couldn’t look at Lincoln when his brother continued on a rampage.

 

“See?! That punk has been nothing but a troublemaking pain in the ass since he arrived! You were the one who told me about Alex having some kind of genius profiling skills. You’re right that he should’ve been able to put on an act for a murderer, or someone with a record of sexual assaults. But that’s not what he was locked in a room with!”

 

“Lincoln,” Michael said quietly, still holding onto his brother’s cell phone and refusing to make eye contact.

 

“I spent a long time in solitary confinement. Long enough to get to know what violent, sadist rapists are like, Mikey. I may not be as smart as you, but I know the difference between sexual assault and mutilation.”

 

“You’re implying that Jones intended to mutilate Alex?” Michael could barely keep the revulsion out of his voice.

 

“Why don’t you go take and take a look for yourself? He nearly had his wrist snapped and there are puncture marks on his neck!”

 

“I’m going to wait for Alex to regain consciousness and then listen to his side of the story. In the meantime…” Michael passed Lincoln back his phone. “You might want to turn up the volume on your ringer.”

 

“Huh?” Lincoln stood there as Michael walked away, flipping the screen up so that he could view the call log. He could barely contain his disbelief and fury when he saw the altered information displaying the three missed calls from Roland.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Sometime around four-thirty in the morning, Michael sat on the edge of the padded bench inside the boathouse, which was situated in the middle of the parking area of the warehouse. He was hunched over, his elbows on his knees, and his head in his hands. Sara was standing nearby, patiently waiting for him to speak.

 

“Are you sure?” Michael asked, breaking the silence, but not raising his head to look at her.

 

“I’m positive, Michael. Considering the damage Jones inflicted in five minutes, Alex would’ve been dead or hospitalized in under fifteen. The violence always escalates, so you can imagine what the next level up to a snapped wrist might look like. Jones would’ve failed a psych evaluation, even one given by an amateur. Men like him are repeat offenders, Michael. They follow a pattern. I don’t understand why his record never mentioned aggravated sexual assault at the very least.”

 

Michael exhaled loudly and got to his feet, beginning to pace back and forth in the small living space of the boathouse. “I sent him in there, Sara. I told him that it was an easy in-and-out mission.”

 

“This isn’t your fault, Michael. You made that judgment call based on the information in Jones’ dossier, which was wrong by the way.” Sara tried to console her lover, but Michael was beyond that now. His mind was functioning on a level that she couldn’t relate to. She could only stand back as an observer as he began to speculate and build the framework for a puzzle that only he understood.

 

“Lincoln is usually reliable and cool-headed when it comes to the mission, and yet he completely lost it during this one. He acted very peculiar about Alex going in there, but didn’t actually object to it. He didn’t respond to Roland’s phone calls and left Alex in the VIP room for perhaps two minutes longer than was safe. If Alex had been removed from the situation earlier…”

 

“Michael, he’s your brother!” Sara exclaimed in disbelief, following his train of thought.

 

Still, Michael continued. “Add to that the fact that we still haven’t been able to debrief Alex. We don’t know what went on inside the VIP room. Maybe Alex said something to offend Jones. We both know how unpredictable Alex can be when someone puts him in a corner.”

 

“No!” Sara said sharply. “The last person I’m going to let you blame for this is Alex. He was nervous about this mission, not antagonistic. Have you seen him lately?”

 

“You mean the fidgeting and lack of eye contact? It’s hard to miss, Sara.” Michael sighed. “I’m only trying to rule out the impossible before I have no choice but to move onto the improbable.”

 

“Well, I hope you can figure it out quickly because Lincoln is holding in a lot of aggression right now. He’s torn up over what happened to Alex and looking to blame someone.”

 

“Which brings us back to the first possibility – that Lincoln deliberately left Alex in there. Although Lincoln may have been very vocal of his dislike for Alex in the beginning, he seems to have become oddly protective of him lately. I can’t figure out what he’s up to, but I’m absolutely certain that he would want no harm to befall Alex. So, that brings us to the only other possibility.”

 

“What’s that?”

 

Michael’s eyes narrowed and his expression hardened. “That Roland went to the trouble of hacking into Lincoln’s cell phone to insert those phony missed calls. And, if we assume that he did that, we may as well also assume that he edited the information in Jones’ file. But, for what purpose? Was he trying to set Alex up or take down Lincoln?”

 

“If the information was altered, it was already that way before Lincoln volunteered to accompany Alex. Remember that you originally wanted Alex to go in by himself.”

 

“Regardless, we need two things now. One – proof that Roland did what I think he did. And two – a motive. We need to get access to Roland’s laptop to verify these accusations.”

 

“So, I’ll distract him long enough for you to come up with the evidence on his laptop.”

 

But Michael slowly shook his head, continuing to pace. “As good as my computer skills are, Alex’s are better, especially when it comes to accessing FBI criminal files. We need to get him on the laptop, before Roland wises up to our suspicions and deletes all the evidence.”

 

“How do we know that he hasn’t already done that?”

 

“Because he’s an asshole. This is all a game to him. He’s the type that likes to keep a scrapbook of all his accomplishments.”

 

“I still haven’t been able to assess Alex’s mental state. I’m not sure how helpful he’s going to be if he’s been severely traumatized by all this.”

 

“Well, that’s all we have to work with right now. We can’t touch Roland without proof. Self doesn’t need an excuse to send us all to a maximum security prison.”

 

* * *

 

It was nearly eight a.m. before Alex regained consciousness. His head hurt, his throat was dry, and he was sore in more places than he could count. But he lay there on his stomach, feigning sleep, and just listened. Voices drifted over to him, chatting too quietly for him to make out the words, so he focused on the tone infliction instead. Sucre sounded worried, Brad’s complaining sounded peevish, but Roland actually sounded cheerful. Or maybe that was just his own personal bias kicking in because he’d never liked Roland.

 

Alex had no idea what time it was or why no one had bothered to wake him up. The events from the night before were hovering at the back of his mind where he had tried to bury them. He concentrated on his teammates instead, desperate to keep his mind occupied and away from the memory that he no longer wanted access to.

 

When Brad chuckled at something Sucre had said, Alex felt his chest tighten. They were most likely having a good laugh at his expense. Hadn’t they always? What better target was there to poke fun at than a disgraced FBI agent with a destroyed reputation? Forced to work with a bunch of convicts who operated out of an abandoned warehouse like a back-alley criminal organization. It was all a joke, really. A terribly bad one.

 

The only reason why Alex had even agreed to Self’s neurotic arrangement in the first place was so that he could avenge his son’s death. Working against the Company would have put him in a position where he could have exacted that revenge. Of course he had also felt compelled to join forces with Michael and Lincoln, feeling the overwhelming need to redeem himself in their eyes. And what had come of it? Not only had he failed to get revenge for Cameron, but he had also failed Lincoln. To hell with Michael! Michael was the bastard who had sent him in on that mission in the first place. And to think of how hard he’d worked to make amends with the genius engineer whom he’d grown to admire! He would’ve followed Michael off of a cliff, that was how much he’d trusted and respected him.

 

Well, no more! Alex was done with playing the part of the loyal subordinate to Michael Scofield. In fact, the only feeling he had for Lincoln’s brother was absolute hatred.

 

Even after the voices faded away, Alex lay there, quiet and unmoving.

 

“They’re gone.”

 

The voice caused Alex to cringe and every muscle in his body to tighten. It was so close, almost right up against his ear. And then there were hands sliding under his arms and lifting him up against his will. He could do nothing but allow himself to be pulled into a sitting position. When the hands released him, he raised his icy glare to target the man who was sitting by his bedside.

 

“Lincoln?” Alex stared at Lincoln in confusion, noting that his unsmiling partner from the previous night was still wearing the same t-shirt and jeans that he’d gone out in. He didn’t look like he’d slept at all either.

 

“You’re not supposed to use your right arm. Doctor’s orders,” Lincoln offered by way of explanation. That and nothing more.

 

That made perfect sense, considering that Alex couldn’t move his right arm anyhow. It was numb from the shoulder down to the tips of his fingers. He couldn’t feel a damn thing! He suddenly shot Lincoln a panicked look, flinching when the bigger man’s hand covered his left, uninjured hand and squeezed reassuringly.

 

“Sara gave you something to block the pain. She said it might cause numbness… or something. She’ll take a look at it again when it wears off.” Lincoln got out of the chair and sat down on the bed beside Alex, his expression dead serious and urgent. “I know you’re not feeling well and you’re in a lot of pain, but I need you to do something.” He looked up when he heard someone cough, but it had come from down below.

 

Lincoln was not prepared for the unstable look that Alex shot him, or the anguished suffering that followed. “That’s how it always begins, isn’t it? I do something for you or your brother and it ends up backfiring on me! Like the racing track… How hard was it for you to come to the decision to bail me out of the courtroom after I was arrested? Did Michael even want me back on the team after that?!” Although Alex was shaking with barely concealed rage and hurt, he kept his voice low so as not to encourage anyone else to intrude on them. He couldn’t deal with the others right now. “And everyone was all for me throwing myself at Jones like some… _prostitute_. Even you didn’t object,” Alex barely managed to get out. “I can only imagine how amusing it is for everyone to see me like this!”

 

Although Lincoln’s face remained as impassive as ever, his eyes darkened with an emotion that he could not contain. He grabbed Alex by his good arm and glared at him. “You think that pissing me off enough to attack you is going to make you feel better? Just so you can prove a point? I am _not_ amused by this, Alex. You don’t have a clue how I feel, so stop trying to make up shit. And for the record, I never wanted you to accept that mission. I couldn’t come out and oppose Michael, so I did the only thing I could think of. I went with you. I tried to protect you. And I failed.”

 

Bits and pieces of the night before came back to Alex, including how he’d felt when Lincoln had held onto him in the car after it was all over. He was so desperate to take out his feelings of betrayal on someone that he’d lashed out at the one person whom he owed his life to. He tried to swallow past the lump in his throat when Lincoln released his arm. “Lincoln… I’m sorry… I just…” Alex wiped tears of frustration from his eyes and turned away.

 

“You need someone to blame. I get it.” Lincoln’s tone softened as he wrapped both arms around Alex and held him tightly. “Just don’t blame me.” Alex relaxed in Lincoln’s powerful arms, as if it were totally natural for him to do so, mentally exhausted from the act of repressing any and all detailed memories from the night before. “But, like I said, I need you to do something. I think that Roland set you up. He hacked my cell phone and planted fake phone calls on it. He probably screwed up the information on Jones as well. I need you to get on his laptop to find us some evidence.”

 

Alex closed his eyes and tried to follow what Lincoln was saying. But he was still in pain, despite whatever Sara had given him, and feeling miserable. Actually, his stomach was acting up in the same way that it had after he’d been shot by Kellerman in the rotator cuff. The drugs they’d given him in the hospital had elicited a similar response. Overbearing nausea followed by dizziness and vomiting. He just couldn’t tolerate any prescription drugs nowadays. “Why can’t the genius engineer do it?”

 

Lincoln looked slightly taken aback by the venomous way Alex referred to Michael but decided not to comment on it. “He doesn’t believe me. That’s why.”

 

“Well, you know Michael. If he doesn’t have a personal stake in the matter, he’s as reliable and trustworthy as a python.”

 

Not wanting to argue with Alex in his condition, Lincoln simply stroked his hand down the ex-agent’s bare back, avoiding the area that was heavily bruised. “Alex…,” Lincoln pulled back so that he could look into the slim man’s wild eyes. He’d seen that look before, back when he and Michael had been on the run and Alex had been hot on their trail. It was a look of desperation, of necessity. The look that said Alex would do whatever was required to get revenge on those who had wronged him. But it also meant that Alex was willing to sacrifice himself in order to achieve that goal. Lincoln disliked that look and wanted nothing more than to erase it. This was not the Alex that he had fallen for. He wanted the Alex underneath it all, the part that was still hanging onto his sanity, regardless of how damaged he was inside. “What are you thinking?”

 

“You don’t want to know,” Alex replied with a bitter laugh.

 

How far should he let Alex fall before he intervened? Sure, Michael was an asshole for not taking Lincoln’s accusation at face value, but he was still his brother. Lincoln didn’t want to believe that Michael had it in for Alex, and he didn’t want Alex hating Michael. And he most certainly didn’t want Alex taking matters into his own hands and getting hurt. Alex had always been a loner, Lincoln was well aware of that fact. He also knew that if Alex felt isolated enough, there was a very strong possibility that he would disappear one day without a trace.

 

Before Lincoln realized what he was doing, his fingers were on Alex’s face, tracing over his cheek and jaw, and then hooking two fingers underneath to lift his chin up. Alex had no choice but to look at him, and so Lincoln became the target of that questioning, blue stare. He could read the confusion there, the questions, but also the undeniable truth. Alex would accept whatever Lincoln did to him.

 

Pushing down any doubts that he may have had, Lincoln moved in closer to kiss Alex. He’d never been a very considerate lover, always being accused of taking whatever he needed without giving much in return. Perhaps it was because he had grown up without much to begin with. He had learnt that if he didn’t take advantage, someone else would. What was here today might not be there tomorrow. But this time was different. As his lips moved over Alex’s, he focused on the other man’s reaction. Feeling the tremor that caused Alex to shiver as their lips touched. He paused, giving Alex the opportunity to pull away, but he didn’t. After a moment, Lincoln pressed his lips in firmer, more than a little surprised when Alex parted his lips, welcoming him inside. Although Lincoln had intended to keep the contact brief and comforting, Alex’s unexpected reaction filled him with a surge of desire. He didn’t hesitate before moving his hand to the back of Alex’s head to hold him still, and then slid his tongue over the ex-agent’s bottom lip. Alex moaned and pressed in closer, impatiently teasing Lincoln with the tantalizing way he licked the tip of Lincoln’s tongue.

 

Lincoln didn’t need anymore coaxing. He thrust his tongue into Alex’s mouth, tasting him, claiming him. He’d spent three long, miserable years locked away in a prison, and a good amount of time in solitary confinement. He knew what loneliness felt like and Alex was drowning in it. He could feel it in the way Alex kissed, and by how hard Alex gripped his shoulder, preventing him from escaping. In prison Lincoln had taken a handful of male lovers. He’d needed something to pass the time and somewhere to release his sexual frustration. But none of them had made him feel the way Alex did. The overwhelming need to defend him, mingled with the burning desire to pleasure him.

 

Despite the horrible ordeal that Alex had been through, kissing seemed to still be a tolerable – and pleasurable – experience for him. As much as Lincoln wanted to let his hands wander to other places, he kept things tame and controlled, not wanting to do anything that might bring back bad memories for Alex. Or cause him to pull away. At the end of the kiss, Lincoln pulled Alex against his muscular chest, but this time it was much more an embrace of passion than one of mere comfort.

 

“I’m gonna find the asshole that set you up,” Lincoln vowed as he stroked his hand through Alex’s hair. “And then I’m gonna kill both him and that tool downstairs.” And he meant it. He’d just permanently altered his relationship with Alex. He wasn’t sure how he should be classifying this new relationship, but he did know that it gave him the permission to act in Alex’s defense. And there was no limit to how far Lincoln was willing to go to defend those that he cared about.


End file.
